the sword in the darkness
by serpentess22
Summary: {a collection of very short one-shots featuring my favourite character in asoiaf, jon snow, and little vignettes from what I imagine is, could be or should be his life.}
1. introduction

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

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0. introduction

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{this fanfiction is a collection of very short one-shots (some drabbles perhaps) featuring my favourite character in asoiaf, jon snow, with one-word prompts.}

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**MAIN CHARACTERS**: Jon Snow, Ghost, Ygritte, Eddard Stark.

**OTHER CHARACTERS** (that appear at some point or other): Arya Stark, Robb Stark, Bran Stark, Samwell Tarly, Catelyn Stark, Theon Greyjoy, Daenerys Targaryen, Tyrion Lannister, Sansa Stark, Lord Commander Mormont, Melisandre of Asshai, Lyanna Stark, Rhaegar Targaryen, Gendry Waters, Val, Tormund Giantsbane, Mance Rayder, Young Griff/Aegon VI Targaryen and others.

**PAIRINGS**: Jon/Ygritte (main), Arya/Gendry (occasionally), Sam/Gilly (occasionally), Lyanna/Rhaegar (occasionally), Catelyn/Eddard (occasionally) and others.

**WARNINGS**: Occasional AU, occasional AU - Modern Setting, appliance of "R+L=J" theory, sporadic and random made-up scenes along the aSoIaF timeline, graphic violence, sexual references, implicit sex, depression.

**A/N**: So, basically, this fic will be 101 chapters long including this chapter, and I plan to finish it by around the 25th of November maybe, and post anywhere between one and five chapters per day. There are days when I can't post, though, so I'll upload those when I can. Either way, the end of November (or mid-December) is my deadline for this fic. Each chapter will be somewhat related to whatever word prompt I set myself to write.

This is technically an exercise to get my own writing skills up to shape because I haven't written anything fanfiction-related for myself for a long time, but if you end up enjoying whatever I write, then that's great.

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	2. fixture

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing. Oh, and not the famous phrase, "You know nothing, Jon Snow," either, obviously.

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1. fixture

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She was a fixture in his system.

A thorn in his side, a taste that left him wanting for more, and an intoxicating, all-consuming drug that he just couldn't get enough of.

When he told himself again and again that he needed to leave sooner or later… He didn't feel as sure of that as he'd been before. Under their furs, nothing mattered except her - her scent and the feel of her hands curling into his scalp, sending a pleasant litter shiver down his spine, and her voice murmuring in his ear, and her sly smile as he traced his fingertips over the curve of her lower lip before leaning in.

"You know nothing, Jon Snow," she always says. And indeed, perhaps he didn't, but he knew that with her, he was free.


	3. stars

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

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2. stars

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Two days before he was due to join his Uncle Benjen on his departure to the Watch, he found himself walking along a familiar path, threading his way around the tall stalks and the grass and pushing down the childish urge to bat at the swaying reeds. Ghost padded behind him, following, as silent as always, and he indulged in the luxury of the silence. It was relaxing, and it helped him think.

As he neared the place he'd always thought as _his_ since he was six – an especially soft patch of grass that he liked to lie on – he found his father's ward there, lying down with his arms behind his arms behind his head, and staring lazily upwards.

Jon tightened his jaw. "Greyjoy," he said simply.

"Snow," Theon Greyjoy replied, and he had the audacity to _smirk_. The older boy eyed him carefully. "Do you think there's a set of stars they could find that we could call the Bastard?" He waved his hand up at the sky.

Jon's temper flared at that, but he pushed it down, hearing Robb's voice in his head again, saying like he'd repeated a million times, _don't let him get to you. He's just trying to provoke you, like always. _He contented himself with glowering instead. "I'm not here to argue with you, Greyjoy," he heard himself say.

"Sure you're not," Theon shot back, and stood up in one smooth, fluid motion.

As he pushed past him, Jon turned his gaze to the sky and stared hard at the dotted black sky.


	4. touch

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

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3. touch

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Jon shivers as her fingers trail over his thigh, the familiar heart intensifying in his stomach as he stares into her heavy-lidded eyes, gleaming with challenge. He flips them over and pushes his nose into her red hair. _Kissed by fire._ "Ygritte, " he breathes, and her mouth drags, hot and wet, over the sharp line of his jaw before touching her tongue to the sweet spot behind his ear.

He pulls back to look at her when she tugs at his hair in demand, and his eyes rake hungrily over her face. When she smiles slowly, deliberately, he leans in for a kiss, sliding his fingers slowly and leaving goose bumps in their wake, and she arches up to his touch.


	5. promise

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing, and I don't own the first italicised quote in the beginning , which is from _A Dance with Dragons_, either. Or the line, '_Promise me, Ned', _which is from _A Game of Thrones_.

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4. promise

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_He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold…_ The ice cold, and he watched as the light flashed behind his closed eyelids – crimson, crimson blood, dripping on the floor, pooling and spreading, as slick as rain. _Promise me, Ned_, the voice whispered, frail and fractured and faint, and he did not recognize it but felt as if he should. _I'm dying_, he recognized weakly. _Ygritte, I'm sorry. Father, Robb, Arya, I'm sorry, I did all I could_. His heart beat, as loud as a drum, almost painful to his ears, and he felt the ground come up to swallow him whole.


	6. stay

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing, and the italicised lines at the end are from _A Storm of Swords._

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5. stay

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"You still keep that crow cloak o' yours."

Jon glanced up, and saw Ygritte staring at him with an unreadable look in her eyes. He swallowed, hesitating. "I do." He looked away, pulling his fingers through his hair and closing his eyes, haunted by the brothers he'd left behind. But he had a home here too, by her side.

He heard her walk over to him, her steps slow but steady, weighed down by the weight of his – of her – of their child, small and safe and snug in his mother's womb. She sat down, taking his jaw into her hand, forcing his face towards hers and kissing him hard for a few moments, before pulling back. She said nothing, simply staring at him, flitting her eyes over his features like she'd been doing a lot lately, as if he were going to leave her.

He wasn't. _You're mine, as I'm yours. And if we die, we die. All men must die, Jon Snow. But first, we'll live,_ she'd said. _Yes. First we'll live,_ he'd said. That was a promise; one he intended to keep.


	7. stretch

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

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6. stretch

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Arya stretched up on the tips of her toes, trying to snatch one of the leaves on the closest branch, which was already much beyond her reach. She bit her lip, scowling, furrowing her eyebrows and grunting as she failed to grab the leaf again. "It's not fair," she complained.

Jon smiled lightly. "It never is," he said. He stood up and walked over to her.

He picked his five-year-old sister by the waist, lifting her up, and she broke the leaf she wanted from the branch, beaming and clutching her prize triumphantly. He set her down, and she threw her arms around him in one of her fierce hugs, and he grinned.


	8. kettle

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

A/N: In case you're confused, this piece is an AU – Modern Setting, with Jon and Ygritte living together, unmarried, maybe in their mid-20s.

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7. kettle

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The kettle made a soft tinker, and Jon walked over to the counter, distractedly taking the mugs along with him. He yawned, rubbing a hand over his face before warily glancing around the kitchen once more – it was strange, Ygritte usually crept in the room around this time, always surprising him every time she did it – before he poured the hot tea into his mug, watching the steam flutter upwards and away, dissolving into the air of the apartment.

He figured that she was probably worn out from last night, just as he was. A hot flush crept up his neck as he remembered how late they'd stayed up, and how, after, he'd absently wondered whether all the noise they made would wake up the neighbours, but couldn't bring himself to care, simply reaching for her again, where she lay across the bed.

He didn't realize that his mug was overflowing with tea until he felt the sharp sting of boiling liquid touch the hand that wasn't holding the kettle, and he cursed, hissing sharply, putting back the pot back on the stove before he did any more damage. He sucked the hurt fingers hard, thinking that he should probably get some ice, but he couldn't be bothered. Clumsily, he wiped off the counter, and reached for the kettle again, filling Ygritte's cup, before carrying it slowly to their room to wake her up, fingers still throbbing.

When he set the cup down on their bedside table, he saw her move, and turn under the blankets, looking up blearily at him, her eyes half-lidded. And when she smiled at the sight of him, he felt himself stir again, and he forgot about his damned fingers.


	9. green

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

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8. green

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Its scales glittered, bright and shining, intensified by the glow of the sun above. A deep, luxurious, dark shade of green and bronze, it was perhaps the most beautiful creature out of his aunt's dragons, or so he thought.

Rhaegal's wary, burnished eyes turned slowly to him as Jon approached with slow, cautious steps, his body flushed with the aura of heat coming off from the dragon, his mouth dry, his palms cold and damp and sweating, and his veins thrumming with some strange, underlying, triumphant feeling that he couldn't get a name out of. He licked his lips, still continuing his walk, and he thought, as he laid his hand on the dragon's snout and when it pressed its nose into his touch, _maybe this feels like belonging, like coming to a home you never even knew existed._


	10. storm

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

A/N: Change of P.O.V.! I was stuck with this one so I just tried Catelyn instead. She was surprisingly easy to write, and interesting too, though she's nowhere near my favourite character list.

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9. storm

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Thunder cracked again, harder than before, and Catelyn clapped her hands over her ears, wincing. She could hear the rain battering against the building, so hard that she could almost imagine that it was trying to bring the walls down over them, and she continued walking along the corridor, shivering and pulling her cloak tighter against her body. She kept her eyes down on the stone floor. She still wasn't completely used to the cold of the North, although at times it was almost bearable, and this was probably the most wild and harsh storm she'd ever seen.

She froze in her tracks next to _that_ room, and she wondered why her feet had taken her here of all places when all she wanted was to be left alone. She touched the handle of the door with her hand softly, debating. She hadn't seen the boy since her husband came back, bringing his bastard back with him, here, with her, among all places. She hadn't wanted to, but now…

Before she changed her mind, she wrenched open the door and pulled it closed behind her. She walked closer to the crib, and stared down.

Jon Snow looked, to all accounts, a normal baby, and seemingly Eddard Stark in miniature. His dark eyes, his nose, his hair – all of it, they were her husband's. Even she could see that. He was reportedly a quiet baby – unlike her own Robb – undemanding, easy to satisfy, and curious, but content to just look.

Just then, he opened his eyes, and looked up at her, his eyes wide and familiar. The baby gurgled at her, waving his fists and reaching up a bit, like he expected to be picked up.

It was too much. _Why am I here? _She turned away and stalked back to the door.


	11. swords

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing. Or the phrase, "You know nothing, Jon Snow," obviously.

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10. swords

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Jon staggered back as the flat of her blade cracked against his leather-covered side, hard and fast, and before he could retaliate she spun away, quicker than anyone he'd ever fought with. He raised his own sword and tried a hit at her shoulder, but her steel met his own and pushed him back, and she flashed her sword at his head, but he saw it coming and pulled back – and before he could blink, he found himself tripping backwards, legs throbbing from a hit, his sword spinning from his grasp, and on the ground, staring up the slender blade.

He raised his eyes to hers, sheepish, and grinned, and Arya smirked back at him. "See? I knew I could beat you anytime," she boasted, sheathing her sword and handing him his, as he stood up again.

His little sister was a woman grown now, eight-and-ten now, and as bold as she'd always been, with a proud and determined tilt to her chin. She wore breeches and a tunic fitted especially, in all black, her sword as slim as Needle, the sword he'd had crafted for her years ago, and made from the exact same metal, only stretched and strengthened to accommodate someone of her size, according to Arya.

He smiled. "I know that now," he said, mildly, remembering a voice from another lifetime. _You know nothing, Jon Snow. _"I won't make the same mistake next time."

"Oh, you won't, huh? We'll see about that," Arya challenged, her eyes gleaming, and her laughter cheered his heart.


	12. eyes

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing. Or, obviously, the phrase, "You know nothing, Jon Snow," or, "You'll see a hundred castles."

A/N: Ygritte was pretty difficult to write at first, and I can't help but worry whether or not I got her right, but all the same, this was as painful as hell.

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11. eyes

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Ygritte had wanted to see him. She knew that. She'd just wanted to get a glimpse of him, and survive the attack on Castle Black, and travel with her clansmen after while they took what was theirs. She just wanted a small glimpse of him, to see if he was all right, if the leg she'd shot was fine, if he was alive, because even though he'd left her in the end like she'd always feared he would, broke _his_ promise to _her_ in favour of his precious crow's vows, she was his, and he was hers, no matter how far either of them were from each other. Or whatever they did.

Maybe, she'd thought, when they won, when the free folk prevailed, before they killed him, she'd speak to him. What she'd say if she had the chance, she didn't know. Maybe she wanted to ask him _why. _Ask if he regretted it, leaving her, in any way. Kiss him one last time, get to actually say good-bye, and let him taste the salty tang of tears on her lips.

But, as it turned out, she was wrong this time.

And as she found herself lying on the snow, helpless and exposed, trying not to breathe in too hard as the pain ached in her chest, too weak to try and pull the arrow out and get up, she found her mind empty of thought. Idly, she wondered if she was going to die. She closed her eyes and felt the snow on her cheeks where tears had been long ago before they had dried up, but she opened them at the sound of heavy boots and a familiar lumbering step. _There he is. _She wanted to laugh, suddenly. Laugh hard and deep and hysterically. _You'll see a hundred castles, _she heard him say, though a haze of misery that lingered between them_. _She'd wished that with all her heart, she had.

She touched his cheek, cupped it in her palm, when what she really wanted was to pull his face down and kiss him like she'd done a thousand times before. _You know nothing, Jon Snow, _she whispered, looking into his eyes, and she saw the agony in them. They were deep and full of secrets and mysteries she'd tried her best to unravel every night they had spent under their furs, and failed at, though perhaps in another life she might have succeeded.


	13. breathe

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

A/N: It struck me that we didn't see Jon's immediate reaction to the Red Wedding, so, this was how I pictured it, I guess. This is set sometime before Jon gets chosen as Lord Commander and before Sam goes to put his plots in action.

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12. breathe

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The sound of his breaths is loud in the darkness of the room, and all Jon can think of is how he is alive and they are not.

Ghost watches warily from a corner of the room as he smacks his fist into the wall in front of him, again and again, tears blurring his vision. He remembers how he and Robb used to play in Winterfell as children, without a care in the world, he remembers when their father used to sit down with both of them to give in to their demands for a story of his own rather than Old Nan's, and he remembers every time they snuck away from Lady Catelyn's judgemental eyes, laughing and grinning. Most of all, he remembers when they said goodbye for the last time, never knowing the world they knew would dissolve into chaos.

When his knuckles are bruised and his hands are aching and when his arms feel spent, he slides down to the floor, Ghost pads silently over to him and nudges at his face, licking the tears off his scarred cheeks. Jon buries his hands into his thick white fur, pulling him close, and wonders if he has anything left to lose.


	14. live

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

A/N: Another random AU, set sometime after aDwD's happenings and Jon doesn't get betrayed and decides to stay at the wall.

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13. live

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"No, no, Arya, _no_," he chants, a frenzied prayer, his breath rising in faint clouds in front of his face even in the room, his heart beating much too fast, frantically snatching more blankets to tuck around her limp body and clutching her wrist, searching for a pulse. It's there, but faint, much too faint, and he can barely feel it under his numb fingers. Melisandre stands to the side, watching, always watching, but doing nothing, and Sam is shouting for more firewood to make the room warmer, his voice panicked and nervous.

Jon's senses dim and his focus on the room dwindles, and he begs his little sister to wake up. _Don't die on me_, he hears himself say. _Live, Arya. Live for me, live for Sansa, for taking back Winterfell, most of all, yourself. Wake up. Please. _

She's different and grown, her face gaunt and longer and her body malnourished, and he knows that she must be starved and weakened from the long journey to the Wall, and he does not know how she got here all by herself and avoided the dangers of capture other than her sheer, natural strength of will, or where she's been all these years, but he knows that he will wait by her bedside forever if it means that she will wake up.


	15. son

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

A/N: A fluffy respite. ^^

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14. son

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"Let me see 'im," Ygritte demands, her voice strained and her face flushed with exhaustion. "Let me see 'im, or I'll gut the lot of you 'soon as I get up."

Val hands over the wailing baby with a smile, ignoring the midwife's clucks of disapproval. Jon watches, an unidentifiable feeling rising in his chest, as Ygritte nurses their son, touching his small face and his fingers and his inexplicably tiny feet, and finds himself forgetting his anxiety and previous worries and the ache from his still-throbbing fingers where Ygritte had clutched at him through the birth whilst screaming all sorts of threats to his person. He sets himself behind her on the makeshift bed and touches her tenderly, and he still can't believe it when he takes their child into his arms and holds his head gently. He notices the way the shape of his son's eyes are the exact same as their mother's, slides his fingers over the tiny tufts of hair that are as dark as his own curls, and smiles when he waves his little fists, trying to reach upwards.

"Well," Ygritte says, watching Jon and curling into his side with a tired sigh, "if you'll be wanting another o' those whelps, you'll have to wait a long while, Jon Snow."


	16. cold

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

A/N: You can assume, in this one, that Jon was not stabbed and stayed at the Wall and the Others are near (which explains the chill).

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15. cold

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The cold chills his skin, seeps down into the layers deep down to grasp his bones in its claws, and pulls, pulls away what was left of the warmth in his body. He does not remember what it is to feel warm anymore; though sometimes, he catches fragments of memories that show him what it was like, of sunny days and laughter and free movement, although he finds them hard to believe, he admits. He remembers Ygritte, though, and he tries his hardest to picture her and feel her: the heart of her, inflaming him and freeing him, and her touch, her fingers on his face, on his chest, in his hair, on his shoulders and everywhere, all over him.

The memories are like detached pieces of rope, floating within his reach and ready for him to take but he cannot reach for them, cannot feel the rough feel of the string beneath his fingers, and they warn him of a sting, of scabs and reopening wounds, so he avoids the thought of her, of anything or anyone, of everybody he has lost and can never find again. He ignores the ropes, and continues his fruitless stare across the Wall, letting the cold wind pull at his coat, try to pull him down. His feet remain firmly planted on the ground, though, and his gaze roams, his stare empty.


	17. bastard

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing. The phrase, "Promise me, Ned" is from _A Game of Thrones_.

A/N: Change of P.O.V. again, and I'm sorry, this one is a bit… sloppy, and too abrupt. I'll probably come back to edit it when I'm done with this fic.

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16. bastard

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Ned glanced up in surprise when the door opened and Jon, his son of seven years, slipped in, closing the door quietly behind him. His face was solemn and sad, and Ned started to worry.

He pulled his chair back from his desk and gestured for Jon to come closer, offering his knee for the lad to sit on. Jon sat, his expression pensive, and looked as though he wanted to speak, but no words came out of his mouth.

"What's wrong?" he encouraged.

"Am I truly a bastard?" Jon blurted out, his voice small. He looked nervous, like he expected to be reprimanded.

Ned could not answer for a moment. He hadn't postponed this discussion for a long time… _Promise me, Ned_, he heard her voice in his head again, weak and faint and breathy, pleading. _I promised her, Jon, _he thought, and he asked, trying to soften his voice, "Where did you hear that?"

Jon looked away. "Theon."

Ned's mouth twisted. Of course he had. He'd need to have a word with the boy. He tugged Jon closer, and looked into his eyes, the exact copy of his own. "That does not matter, Jon," he told him. "You are my blood. That is all that matters."


	18. flight

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing. Obviously, and I'll repeat again, the prhase, "You know nothing, Jon Snow," is not mine.

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17. flight

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_They were my brothers_.

The thought echoed in his ears, playing the scene again and again before his eyes, and the sting of betrayal was harsh and brutal and the ache was deep as Jon raced, faster and faster and faster, on four paws; white paws, all Ghost's. _I am not a wolf_, he thought, but he had no choice.

He remembered it; the pierce of the knives, Marsh's panicked face, the pain and the numbness and the sight of his breath rising in clouds in front of his face, and the sting of cold, and he'd warged away from his body into Ghost's before he knew what he was doing.

Jon did not know where he was going. Perhaps he'd find Arya, in Winterfell, and try to save her perhaps, or escape to one of the Free Cities, or perhaps he'd double back and find the wildings – Tormund knew Ghost, maybe he'd be able to communicate to him somehow? – or… _You know nothing, Jon Snow_, he heard her voice again, he raced faster.


	19. anger

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

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18. anger

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Jon did not register the ache in his fists as the red was in his vision, and in his head, chanting and chanting a terrible, unintelligible string of words, and the fury was great and big inside him. He drove his fist over and over into Theon's face, and felt a blaze of satisfaction as he heard the hard _crunch_ of a nose and the screech of pain. It was only when someone wrapped their arms around his and around him and pulled him hard, back, when he saw the blood, the crimson, all over Theon's face and staining his shirt and heard the desperate gasps and groans, and Jon felt a flush of shame but refused to banish the anger from his face, refused to wash it from his veins. He had enough, of Theon Greyjoy's smirks and snide remarks, of Lady Catelyn's hard eyes, of every uppity visitor's refusal to associate themselves with _the Lord of Winterfell's bastard, _the only dirty smear on his father's honour.

"My mother was not a whore," he heard himself say, even though he did not know, _he did not know_, and suddenly the anger was pain and agony and betrayal all at once and he could not take it anymore. He tore himself from Robb's grasp and stalked away, he heard Arya's wails from her perch in Lady Stark's arms but he ignored her, ignored everybody's disapproving frowns; he wanted to be alone for once, before his father heard of this.


	20. grass

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

A/N: It was only when I finished writing this when I realized that it had absolutely nothing to do whatsoever with grass. Oh well.

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19. grass

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Little Arya giggled, waving her tiny fists at him as Jon smiled, gently bumping his head with hers and making silly faces with her. Her gray eyes, so similar to his own, shone brightly at him and her lips stretched into a huge grin, and the bubbly chortle that escaped her mouth made him feel queerly warm.

She was a demanding, uncooperative babe with almost everyone ever since she was born, except with Jon. Perhaps it was because the two of them were the only ones that looked so much like their father, but he'd never cared to reason it out much. It just felt so good to be someone's favourite, so good to feel that warm feeling in his chest that made him so grin widely, that Jon thought that it outpaced the sting of the servants' bemused sidelong glances, Sansa's jealousy at not being to get near her sister without her fussing, and Lady Catelyn's scowling expressions whenever she saw them playing together.


	21. fire

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

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20. fire

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_Fire and blood_.

Jon remembered the Targaryen words as he stood stoically in wait, his eyes fixed upwards on the huge black figure on the horizon, with the slight golden-haired form on its back. After months of dreaming of restless flying over a city that must be King's Landing and the news of Targaryen claimants in the South, his aunt's arrival was no real surprise. He did not know whether or not she _knew_ that he was her nephew, or that her green dragon would be his, but that was of no consequence. He was the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and that would not change.

When the wind around him buffeted and his brothers drew their breaths in sharply at the sight of the creature alighting on the ground, Daenerys Targaryen descended, sliding down from her dragon in one smooth move. Her eyes were violet and cool, her poise proud and expectant. She was younger than he, he suddenly remembered. Jon knelt, his men following.

"Your Grace." His voice sounded distant and cold.

She walked over to him, and her black dragon's eyes followed her path, the red as threatening as they were fathomless. Her hair fluttered behind her was she strode over, and her eyes were wary and surprised. "Nephew," she returned. "You are not… what I expected."

"No, Your Grace." _I'm not a Stark_, he remembered that he had said that a long time ago_._ _I am not Targaryen either, though. _His mouth twisted, and he stood, towering over her. "May I ask the purpose of this visit?"


	22. crow

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

A/N: This one's a drabble. Just wanted to see if I could keep to strictly a hundred words and be okay with that.

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21. crow

* * *

The bird was large, battered and old, and it ruffled its wings again, fluffing its black feathers, and squawked rather loudly as it perched near to his bed. He had lost count of how many times it had woken him up in the mornings by flying in his face or cawing right next to his ear or whatever methods it could think of, and for a while he wondered how long Mormont's bird would live after Jon himself died, perhaps today or in a fortnight or years after this.

"_Snow_," it called to him, moving on the perch. "_Snow, Snow._"


	23. mine

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing. The phrase, "[you're] mine, as I'm yours", is from _A Storm of Swords. _

A/N: This one is an edited repost – it used to be number 12, but I accidentally deleted the chapter last night. Anyway, this is an alternate version of the latter events of aSoS: Jon killed the old man with the fire, thus winning over (most) of the wildings, and he and Ygritte find another cave.

* * *

22. mine

* * *

When her lips breathe out a sigh and he covers them with his own, the last remnants of his guilt flee from his mind, and all he can think of is how good she tastes, how her tongue slides across his lower lip, and how her lips pull into a wicked smirk as she splays her fingers across his stomach, her touch teasing and deliberate and infuriatingly slow. His groan seems almost too-loud in the quiet of the cave, and he presses his lips to the hollow of her throat slowly, feeling her tugging insistently at his hair, her fingernails rubbing his scalp. _Jon_, she says, her breathing shallow and her voice hitching. Not Lord Snow, not the bastard. Just _Jon Snow._

He sees her mouth the words, _mine, as I'm yours_, in the half-darkness, and he shows her how he agrees with her.


	24. familiar

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

* * *

23. familiar

* * *

"Ygritte, where is my sword?" Jon says, frowning as he fumbles through their messy pile of furs and possessions, all mixed up together, as was their new custom. Tossing their things together beside their sleeping furs had become as familiar as her touch and her voice, and he fears that she has become _too_ familiar, but he has become used to avoiding his doubts and telling himself that he would think about it another day.

He looks up at her when she sits down next to him, shrugging. "Might be you left it in Mance's tent earlier," she says, glancing away from him as Ghost approaches them, and runs her fingers through his white fur when Ghost curls up between them in a smooth, lazy movement, and lays his head on his paws. Jon places his hand on Ghost's back, and touches Ygritte's fingers, forgets about Longclaw in favour of appreciating the languor of their position.


	25. figure

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

A/N: I don't know why this one turned out pointlessly long, but oh well.

* * *

24. figure

* * *

Fury spread across Aegon's face. "What do you mean, _no_? Have you forgotten your place? I am your king."

_And just a moment ago you were insisting you were my brother. _Jon's lips thinned and he sat back in his seat, fisting his hands. "I said, your Grace, I do not wish to be wed." _Not to her, no. I am not a Targaryen, not truly. Do not make me do this. _"She was my half-_sister_," he reminded the figure across from him.

"She is your cousin now, no more a sibling," Aegon said, as though that made much of a difference, his brows furrowing and crossing his arms over his chest. "Lady Sansa is the Lady of Winterfell, now that Brandon and Rickon Stark are dead. If you marry her, you would be Lord of Winterfell. From what I have heard of her, she has a pleasant nature, beautiful, and young, and surely able to bear you sons as well."

_I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. _ Jon remembered saying those vows long ago, and he had never imagined that he would be where he was now. But Aegon and Daenerys had insisted that he had died once, that his vows had been completed and fulfilled, that they held no power over him now, that he would be a useful ally to them. He had a duty to family, they said. Never mind his protests that he was not made for a life of politics, had disdain for it, that they would be better off having Tyrion Lannister as Hand.

"You are Prince Jon Targaryen now," Aegon continued. "You are expected to marry, and currently, you are mine and Daenerys's heir. Should we die before we get the chance to have children of our own, you are our heir. You would have to marry sooner or later, and what better option than to bind the North to our cause with you? You grew up there – the minor lords would sooner have you than a Southern man."

Jon's half-brother's argument made sense, but he did not intend to yield. He shifted in his chair. "Sansa went through a terrible experience when betrothed to Joffrey. I do not think she would be agreeable to another arranged marriage." He recalled Arya telling him something about Sansa being involved with Willas Tyrell, when she was in Highgarden and had escaped the clutches of Petyr Baelish in the Vale. _Tyrell's nice enough, at least, and he would be good to her, despite that leg_, Arya had said. _Not like stupid Joff._

"She will have to agree," Aegon insisted stubbornly. "She bent her knee to the crown." He scowled. "You will not mistreat her, and you have been acquainted before." He turned, abruptly. "I will hear no more on this." His tone was final, and he stormed out.

Jon clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth, and he slammed a fist onto the table in front of him.


	26. question

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

A/N: I remember Kit Harington once said, in response to being asked how he'd like Jon to die, "_Sunday afternoon, peacefully. 85 years old – resting his head gently on a big iron chair_." I guess you can look at this one as my attempt to write that out (technically, this is set sometime in the middle of the night, but you can assume it's a Sunday at least). And, also, you could look at this as a relation of the previous chapter.

* * *

25. question

* * *

Jon put aside his book, grunting as he reached for his cane, grimacing at the pain in his leg. The old wound from Ygritte's arrow long ago had opened up once in a battle when he was five-and-twenty, and had long since continued to pain him, especially in his old age now. _Ygritte_. Some of his memories might have been failing him recently, but he remembered her as clearly as if their trysts had been only yesterday.

He limped out of his solar, glancing at Sansa's bedchamber as he passed the door. Their marriage had been one of convenience, and they had stayed as friends the whole time, unable to make the first step towards love, had hesitated, had been too haunted by the ghosts of Ygritte and Willas Tyrell, both dead and gone. In the beginning, her hair had reminded him too much of Ygritte's, red and vibrant, although smooth and always intricately arranged, unlike his deceased lover's, but he had gotten used to her presence, and so had she. She had given him three healthy children, and he would always be grateful to her for that, for the blessed distraction from being a Prince of the crown, and then a King. Eddara, their eldest daughter, as solemn as her namesake, but as beautiful and graceful as her mother; Robert, for their beloved lost brother, Jon's heir; and Lyanna, named in honour of the mother Jon had never known, so like her aunt Arya that Jon had indulged her, unable to resist her charms and unwilling to squash the wild wilfulness, had always told himself that she was a second daughter, and that he would not have to have to give her away to a man she did not want and would have to bend to. He hadn't, of course.

Jon continued down the corridor, and when he came to the huge, imposing doors, he edged one forwards before pulling it closed behind him. When he walked forwards, his steps echoed loudly on the floor – almost uncomfortably loudly, but Jon had been forced to get used to the sound, as he had gone used to everybody acknowledging his every entry, watching his every move, deferring to him in all, even though his insides prickled with unease at the attention. His cane made sharp _thunk_s every time it came into contact with the smooth floor, and Jon ascended the stairs, his eyes fixed on the throne that was his.

He had never wanted it, but there was no real choice for him. Daenerys had been unable to conceive, and she and Aegon had perished in the Battle of the Wall, when they had attacked and defeated the Others and creatures beyond the Wall, along with Viserion. When Dany died, Drogon had gone into a rage, and had been uncontrollable, until he had escaped them all, and flown away. A decade had passed before he came back, when Eddara was born – and his daughter and the dragon had developed an attachment, of sorts. Sansa had been worried at first, but Jon knew that his daughter was a warg, perfectly capable of controlling Drogon if he turned uncooperative, and that there was no separating them or destroying the bond they had formed.

Jon had ascended to the throne after the disaster of the Wall, had allowed the wildings to completely settle in the Gift under the leadership of Toregg, one of the deceased Tormund's sons. He had given Winterfell to Arya's son after both she and Gendry had gone, died in the battle, and he had heard that she had fought as bravely as any man, had killed taken down many before going down herself. He had grieved for her, and had never stopped, had waited all his life to join her and Ygritte and his father – Ned Stark, the father who had brought him up – and Robb and Bran and his Uncle Benjen and more of them.

When he reached the top, he turned himself and sat down, slowly, grimacing as his bones protested, and laid his cane over his knees before sitting back and placing his hands carefully on the arms of the Iron Throne, surveying the empty, large room before him. Idly, he wondered what they would say in the morning when they found him here, their forgetful old king lounging in his chair asleep, and shifted slightly in the chair, making himself more comfortable. When he laid his head back to alleviate the mild aching of his neck, he closed his eyes, breathing in slowly.


	27. dark

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

A/N: I seem to have a taste for writing long pieces with Jon in a Targaryen-conquest era today, except this one is somewhat different from the other two. Oh, and change of P.O.V. again.

* * *

26. dark

* * *

Tyrion let out an _oomph_ of surprise as he bumped into someone when turning the corner. Stumbling back, he blinked and straightened himself before looking up, only to see Lord Commander Snow, looking as serious he had ever been, cloaked in all black as was the custom for men of the Night's Watch.

"I apologise, my lord," Jon Snow said stiffly, attempting a smile, but it looked more like a grimace, just as strained as the rest of his face. His body was stretched taut as well, and his scarred hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Tyrion had always wondered where he'd gotten it from, but never had the chance to ask yet. "I was walking too fast, and I did not see you."

"No doubt about that." Tyrion shifted the stack of papers in his hand, surveying him with his mismatched eyes. He glanced back to check which corridor they were in. _Ah. _"You've just come from a meeting with His Grace?"

"Yes," Jon replied, his jaw tensing.

When he did not elaborate, Tyrion pressed him. "I assume he requested your resignation from your post again?"

He frowned. "Yes, he did. His Grace is most… determined to see me off the Wall."

And indeed he was. Every Council meeting with King Aegon these days had all ended the same way – asking Tyrion and others to persuade Jon Snow to quit as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch (he was sure than Jon was completely fed up with the pestering, and the new Small Council member was ever so eager to please His Grace the King), surely Tyrion must now how, that he had been acquainted with him before, and he should find a way, as his Hand, so it was his duty, and this was for the good of the realm, and his half-brother was needed elsewhere rather than rotting on that Wall. But while Tyrion had certainly known the boy, the Jon he saw before him now was a man, no more a bastard boy angry with the world and uncertain of his place. He had heard tales of his deeds and changes as Commander; Tyrion might not have agreed with some of the things he had done, but he recognized and respected the ingenuity and authority with which Jon wielded his position.

Tyrion grinned. "I assure you," he told him, "I'll not encourage his intentions. In fact, I believe I haven't seen you today."

Jon graced him with a smile, a real one this time. "Nor I you, my lord," he dipped his head and moved past him, and Tyrion hurried on.


	28. script

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing. The following lines are from _A Storm of Swords_: "You know nothing, Jon Snow." – "You don't go in with clothes." – "I don't go in at all."

A/N: This one is in honour of my best friend, Glenshadow9. An AU in a modern setting again, and a sort-of humour in which the characters are playing out themselves and _very_ coincidentally have the same names as their assigned characters, I guess? Inspired by that scene in _aSoS_ when Ygritte tries to persuade Jon to take a swim.

* * *

27. script

* * *

"You know _nothing_, Jon Snow," Ygritte declared, her affected accent heavy in her voice – she was surprisingly good with accents, it seemed – as she marched up to him and poked him hard in the chest. Jon grimaced, snatching her finger and moving it away. "You don't go in with clothes."

"I don't go in at all," Jon told her, an amused smile fighting its way onto his face despite his attempts to keep retain the firm expression. _I'm terrible at this_, he thought, for the hundredth time. "You – " he stopped, pretending to hear something from behind the stage. "I can hear Tormund calling. I've got to go."

"Lying ass," Ygritte grumbled in her normal voice, wrinkling her nose as Jon turned to go, trying to take a hurried pace.

"That's not in the script!" Mr. Mormont grumbled at them from his position in the front row. "You keep to your lines, young woman, and your mouth shut otherwise." He muttered something else under his breath that Jon didn't catch. "Start again!"

As Tormund came out from backstage again to get on the cardboard horse they were practising with for the day, Jon glanced back at Ygritte. She grinned, and wriggled her eyebrows, pointedly casting her eyes towards the spot where the curtain was bunched up against the edge of the stage, where they'd spent last night. Heat flushed his cheeks and he looked away, moving into position.


	29. hunt

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

* * *

28. hunt

* * *

He pants, leaning heavily against the tree, holding the small torch near his face for warmth in futility, breathing in deep, the freezing cold air stinging the inside of his nose, and he can almost imagine the air going down to his lungs and freezing them up, suffocating him. Jon wants to think that maybe that would be a mercy instead of a bad thing, but he tells himself once again that he knows nothing, and the Night's Watch cannot afford to lose men now, now when the Others are invading.

His head snaps up when he hears the almost unnoticeable sound of crunching of snow under feet and his eyes go to Pyp's, who is behind the tree opposite to him, and he nods at Jon, his eyes wide with terror. Jon takes another breath and steadies himself before touching the top of the smaller torch to the other, bigger torch in his hand, letting the flame spread slowly and cake upwards before he throws at his tree's root, and running on the narrow pair between another two trees. He glances back to see Pyp following and sees the flame climbing up the tree, the fire gliding over the trunk and eating away at the wood, the fire spreading to the leaves and the extra twigs and spreading to the tree next to it, and after, and after. He runs, and does not look back once more.


	30. torn

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

* * *

29. torn

* * *

"She's cold, Jon Snow, get some furs," Ygritte told him, shaking him awake, her warm breath heavy and ticklish on his ear. He blinked blearily at her and saw their daughter clutched in her arms, arms around her mother's neck, nose and cheeks almost red with the freezing temperature. He sat up, scrambling fast for their pile of furs, scrambling through the pile, and he'd grabbed his old black cloak before he knew what he was doing. Pulling it into his lap, he tore the thick cloth in half with one of Ygritte's knives, and took Lyanna gently, wrapping the great lump of fur around her and the other furs they'd wrapped around her the night before.

He smiled at her through his worry and bumped his nose with hers, and Lya giggled. "Warm?" he asked her, and she nodded, black curls bouncing. "Warm," she said happily, clapping her hands, covered with mittens, together. Ygritte dunked down next to him, sighing.


	31. cat

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

A/N: I apologise for the lack of updates recently! Life interfered. Anyway, this is another AU; In which Jon went with Ned and Arya to King's Landing (which makes no sense, I know, but humour me.)

* * *

30. cat

* * *

The black cat's trail swayed in the wind, and its yellow eyes were focused on some point in the distance, its stance unwary and relaxed. Jon glanced at Arya and she grinned at him, her eyes bright in her smudged face, nodding, and they crept forward.

Jon had protested against doing this at first, saying that it was dangerous for Arya to go wandering and that she could get caught, but he knew, even as she said it, that she would go anyway, baseless of whether he was coming along or not. So he'd figured he'd might as well come, even though he would be of no use to her, seeing as he was never good at creeping up on anyone or anything, but when he told her, she rolled her eyes and told him that he'd better learn, then, or else. He had just sighed and went to his room to change into simpler clothing before meeting her at their spot, and here they were, at their fifth attempt – was it really the fifth? Or was it the eighth? – at chasing cats across the city.

A breeze whistled past his ear and sent some scraps of paper lying near Jon flying through the air. The cat, alerted, pricked its ears, tensing, and Arya grimaced and shot forward, her arms stretched forward – and the cat leapt just out of her reach. Jon made a grab for it, but it _meow_ed indignantly and sped away, leaving Arya and Jon sprawled in the dust. Arya groaned, infuriated, her face set in a scowl, and Jon laughed. "Shall we do look for the next one, then, little sister?"


	32. light

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing.

* * *

31. light

* * *

Lazily, Jon yawned and blinked open his eyes, trying to stretch his aching limbs, only to finally realise that Ygritte had once again curled up against his side, half-across him, in her sleep, leaving one of his arms stuck under her and one of _her_ arms tossed over his chest, and one of her legs was draped over his lap. If he was not hearing her deep breaths that told him that she was indeed asleep, he would've thought that she was doing it on purpose. He tried to tug his arm out – he really needed to relieve himself – but it was no use; she was too heavy, and her hand was curled tight over his side.

Amused but exasperated, he tried to lean over and lift her, but stopped – it took too much work and needless twisting to do that, and he was always terrible at trying to be subtle; surely she wouldn't be too upset if he woke her up? Jon frowned and pushed at her shoulder, nudging. "Ygritte. Wake up."

"Nggfff," she mumbled, frowning slightly. Her eyes opened and she blearily stared at him. "What d'you want, Jon Snow? And here I thought you were tired o' from last night. "

He flushed. "I need to get up."

Ygritte wrinkled her nose and pushed herself off him. "A piss, then. Pity. Don't wake me up again for tha'. Or anythin' else." She yawned and curled into a ball, turning her back to him and pulling the blankets tighter around herself.


	33. rough

**the sword in the darkness**

DISCLAIMER: Every character mentioned and anything in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin. I own nothing except the writing. Faint hints of the book/movie Atonement by Ian McEwan.

A/N: My favourite to write so far! This was actually a piece of an AU Jon/Ygritte one-shot I'm working on, but I decided it would be better off as part of this instead. In honour of the movie _Atonement_, because I never got over the angst of it, I think.

* * *

32. rough

* * *

Ygritte pulls him close to her, her hands curled into the fabric of his shirt, her breath hot and laboured on the skin of his neck. Jon rests his cheek on her head, closes his eyes to engrave the feel of her against him in his brain, one of his hands fisting in her hair and the other holding her to him. He tries to breathe evenly, and fails at that.

"You know I have to leave," he says, feeling the ache in his heart pulse hard at that. He wants to drown in her, in her presence and the feel of her and the fire of her hair, to forget. _I'll come back to you, I always will, _he wants to say, but the lie lodges in his throat like bone and debris, and she has never been one for taking assurances and promises.

"I know," she replies, and pulls her face away to stare at him, her blue-gray eyes hard and angry in the half-darkness of the room. "I _know_," she repeats, her voice hitching on the last word. She untangles her hands from his shirt, sliding them into his hair, pulling him down, and kisses him hard, forcefully, her tongue mapping his lower lip. He kisses her back, tightens his grip on her waist, pushes her to the wall and hitches her leg around his hip, filling his senses with her, as they drown in the black.


End file.
